


it was a graveyard smash

by deerie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cemetery, First Kiss, Flirting, M/M, Monster of the Week, POV Multiple, Slice of Life, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 13:57:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2550062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deerie/pseuds/deerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is surreal,” Derek says. </p>
<p>“Says the werewolf,” Stiles snorts. “So, uh, what should we do?”</p>
<p>Derek hooks an arm around Stiles’ neck and drags him toward the entrance of the cemetery. “Leave ‘em,” he says. “I called Deaton and he seems to think they’ll get back in their graves come morning.”</p>
<p>“Really?” Stiles asks, squinting at Derek. “That seems too easy.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	it was a graveyard smash

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to post this yesterday and call it a Halloween fic, but I fell asleep last night in the middle of writing it and it doesn't really have anything to do with Halloween. :)

“Well, at least the witches are gone,” Stiles voice sounds tinny over the phone, like there’s a bad connection. “ _Shit_ , Scott can never find out about this! Derek, do not tell Scott! He will never let me do anything by myself ever again and you know how I feel about _werewolf baby sitters_ -”

“Stiles!” Derek interrupts. He can hear Stiles’ mouth snap shut with an audible click. “Tell me where you are.”

“Where do you think I am, dude? I’m at the cemetery!” Derek can hear Stiles fiddling with his phone and he doesn’t even really want to know what Stiles is up to.

“Which _one_?” Derek growls. Trying to get information out of Stiles when he’s on one of his tirades is next to impossible.

Stiles goes silent for a couple seconds and then stutters out, “N-not that one, the one across town.”

Derek can’t think of the name of that cemetery, but it’s not the one Stiles’ mom is buried in, or _God_ , his family. There’s one plus to this situation.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Derek says. “Try not to die.”

 

***

 

Derek hangs up on him - which, _rude_ , Stiles thinks. He doesn’t have time to be offended by Derek’s cave-man manners. He shoves his phone into his front pocket and shimmies his way up the tree he’s been eyeing ever since he called Derek.

He slides down on top of the mausoleum that sits under the shade of the tree and sighs in relief. His new perch feels a little disrespectful of the dead, but - well, the dead aren’t really being that respectful of _him_.

True to his word, Derek shows up ten minutes later. When he finds Stiles swinging his feet over the edge of the roof of the mausoleum, he rolls his eyes and says, “You’re an idiot.”

Then, he says, “Where are they?”

“Who?” Stiles asks. “The witches? The witches are gone, dude. Have been, for like at least half an hou-”

Derek reaches up and tugs on one of Stiles’ swinging feet. Stiles squawks loudly and shrieks, “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Get down from there,” Derek huffs. “And I wasn’t talking about the witches, Stiles. You already told me about them on the phone.”

Stiles stares the tree down dubiously and the wriggles around until he’s laying on top of the mausoleum on his stomach. He lets his feet dangle off the edge. “Will you catch me? I don’t think I can get back down using the tree.”

Derek actually makes an incredulous huffing noise, which Stiles didn’t even realize was a thing that people actually _did_ in real life, but grabs Stiles around the waist anyway as Stiles begins to wiggle his way down.

“Ouch,” Stiles hisses when his feet hit the ground, “I think I scratched my tummy,” and then, belatedly, “Thank you.”

Derek quirks his mouth in what Stiles approximates is ‘no problem.’  “So, where are they?”

“The zombies?” Stiles asks.

“Yes, _Stiles_ , the zombies,” Derek says, putting particular emphasis on Stiles’ name.

Stiles cocks his head and asks, “Can’t you smell them?”

“Well, I _could_ ,” Derek says, “but I’m choosing not to.”

“Oh, dude,” Stiles nods. “I wish I could turn my nose off because straight up, they smell rank.”

Stiles hooks a thumb back toward a corner of the small cemetery. Derek raises an eyebrow when he catches sight of the gaggle of zombies slowly shuffling back and forth.

“Yeah, uh,” Stiles scratches idly at the back of his head, “they’re surprisingly docile for zombies. Like, _The Walking Dead_ is surprisingly accurate on the, you know, walking dead part but less so on the eating people part.”

The zombies don’t seem to stray far away from the corner they’ve congregated in, bumping and bumbling against one another.

Stiles counts small favors where he can.

“This is surreal,” Derek says.

“Says the werewolf,” Stiles snorts. “So, uh, what should we do?”

Derek hooks an arm around Stiles’ neck and drags him toward the entrance of the cemetery. “Leave ‘em,” he says. “I called Deaton and he seems to think they’ll get back in their graves come morning.”

“Really?” Stiles asks, squinting at Derek. “That seems too easy.”

“Really,” Derek says. “Deaton says the witches are more like confused twenty-somethings with an internet connection and a desire for petty revenge than actual witches.”

“Zombies are a little drastic for ‘petty revenge.’” Stiles grimaces but lets himself be pulled back to Derek’s fun mom car.

“Where’s your car?” Derek asks him, looking up and down the street.

Stiles shrugs and then says, “Jeep’s at the house. I was at a party a couple blocks over. What does it say about me that I’d rather deal with zombies than be at a party?”

“Nothing important,” Derek says.

“Why, Mr. Hale, I do believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Stiles says in an obviously fake southern belle accent. When he starts to swoon, Derek releases his grip around Stiles’ neck and Stiles swoons himself right into crashing against the passenger’s side door. “Rude.”

“Come on,” Derek says as he slides behind the wheel of the Toyota. “Get in.”

“Where are we going?” Stiles asks as he buckles himself in.

Derek just grins and drives away from the curb.

 

***

 

Stiles finds himself sitting in a booth across from Derek at the local diner thirty minutes later.

Stiles chews on the straw in his milkshake and Derek stares down at his hamburger, the corner of his mouth crooked upward.

Stiles nudges his foot between Derek’s and doesn’t think about zombies at all.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“How’s your stomach?” Derek asks him later.

Stiles lifts his shirt, exposing both his happy trail and an angry red scrape across the left side of his abdomen. He inhales sharply through his teeth, “Dang. Do you think I can pass this off as a zombie-related accident?"

Derek laughs at him, so Stiles takes that as a no.

When Stiles drops the hem of his shirt, Derek reaches forward with his hand to grip at the edge of Stiles’ jaw.

He pulls Stiles closer and Stiles shifts forward in his seat until he can catch Derek around the back of the neck with a hand. Stiles wonders if Derek has wanted to do this as long as he has. 

They kiss, and kiss, and kiss until their waitress starts to catcall.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [*](http://deerie.tumblr.com)


End file.
